Truth's Beholder
by idkaname
Summary: Sequel to “Tragedy of Broken Bars.” Eight year old Julia and her father John Watson are still mourning Mary Watson’s death when Mycroft Holmes suggests that they go on vacation. But then things turn: Mycroft disapears, Holmes is shot, and someone is lost.
1. Chapter 1

**Prelude**

It had been three years since the tragedy that destroyed the Watsons' world. Mrs. Mary M. Watson, Julia's mother, had been brutally murdered before her five-year-old eyes. One of the killers had been shot dead by Watson; the other was arrested with numerous broken bones and a gunshot hole through his left hand. The survivor was indeed General James Frances; he was also the one who left the note and poison. The dead man was a Spanish mercenary by the name of Dante Corala.

The remaining Watsons returned to Baker Street. Julia moved into the previously spare room, and Watson returned to his old room.

Since the tragedy, Julia had been silent, except for whispers and sobbing herself to sleep.

**1**

It was a lazy day in London. There was a steady rain rat-tat-tatting on the windows of 221B South Baker Street.

That downcast day, there came a knock on the apartment door. Since the visitor had a key, he let himself in. The rooms appeared empty, until he noticed light seeping out from the crack underneath a door. He knocked, no answer; he thus opened the door to see eight-year-old Julia sitting at her bay window wearing a small black dress and holding a candle up, as if looking for something in the rain.

"Looking for your father, Julia?" the man asked approaching the girl slowly.

"No." was her whispered response; she did not take her eyes off the rain outside.

"Then who, or what, are you searching for?" he asked. By now he was kneeling next to the girl.

"Hope, that is what I am looking for. Hope that my mother is still there watching over me, as an angel." she whispered, putting her small, delicate hand to the window.

"What do you mean, child? Your mother is at your home, is she not?" the man asked turning the child so he could see her face. She had pale features, she was thin, and her eyes, her blue gray eyes, were red and brimming with tears.

The door burst open as Watson and Holmes came rushing in. "Julia! Julia!" they shouted. They had found the door unlocked and thought the worst.

"She is in here, with me, Sherlock." the man said, leaving the girl.

"Oh, Mycroft, could you have not waited. You could have stood in the parlor or somewhere other than in here!" he said, shaking hands with his elder brother and simultaneously pointing out the door and down the stairs to the parlor.

Watson walked into Julia's room, picked her up, and brought her to the sitting room. "Julia, are you all right, it was only Mr. Mycroft. What is wrong?" he asked, wiping the gushing tears from her eyes.

"He spoke of Mama." she said, in-between sobs.

"Will someone please tell me what she is blubbering about?" Mycroft shouted, truly exasperated.

"Julia, you should go to your room. We do not want to upset you more." Holmes said, shushing his brother before he could open his mouth again.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes." she whispered, sliding out of her father's grip and trudging back to her room.

"Now listen to me, Mycroft! You are not to upset my daughter!" Watson whispered in a sharp and deadly tone.

"But what upsets her then?" Mycroft shot back, eyeing his new opponent.

"Talk of her mother; that is what upsets her." Holmes said, forcefully sitting Mycroft down in a chair.

"What is the matter with her mother? Did she walk out on you?" he laughed, not realizing the severity of what his brother and Watson were talking about.

"How dare you think that! She was beaten to death in front of Julia three years ago! It has scarred her, and thus she will not speak, she barely eats, and she sits by her window every day with her candle. And you think my wife walked out on us?" he cried, almost tearing.

"Mycroft, make our meeting brief; what have you come to tell us?" Holmes snapped, stepping between the feuding men.

"I have received an assignment from the Diogenes Club. A trip to Wales, I thought that you four, or three, would enjoy the trip. That is all." he said, standing to retrieve his coat and hat, which he had deposited on the seat next to him.

"What exactly is your mission?" Watson said; his attitude had reached a decrescendo.

"To check on a new branch of our club, of course; nothing more, nothing less." he said, glancing between the two men, both twice his strength and one carrying a revolver.

"We will consider it." Watson growled. Holmes and Watson looked down after feeling simultaneous tugs on their coat sleeves.

"Oh, please, may we go?" Julia whispered as she stared up at them with pleading eyes.

Everyone laughed after they realized that they had been spied on by an eight-year-old girl!


	2. Chapter 2

They spent the next hour negotiating the whole trip. They were to leave the following week and take a train to Tewkesbury, Wales, finally to Abergavenny, and then they were to ride to the inn in Llanfoist. The rest of the trip's schedule was at their whim.

They departed for their trip on a relatively nice day, a small fog that had not burned off hung by the road. Their sleek black carriage pushed the fog away as they neared the train station.

Julia was the first one to leave the carriage, for she was not use to its movements and had wished to get out the whole half hour trip; but she would become accustomed to it in the years to come as a detective.

She jumped, however, when the baggage carrier came up to her and addressed her as "Miss," instead of Julia, or little girl.

"It is all right, Julia, he is just going to carry our luggage on to the train." Watson said as he lifted up is daughter so she was not be separated from himself, Holmes, and Mycroft. Julia nodded her head up and down, for she did not speak in public.

Once they were on the train, the trip was rather smooth. Julia slept until they reached Tewkesbury; because they had left for the train station around five o' clock. When they returned to the train, things started to go awry. For starters, a drunken man was swaying around the hallway, then the train had to stop to throw the man out, and then the galley had a small explosion, rattling the train. However, the train reached Abergavenny in one piece.

They went to the ticket house where Mycroft pulled aside one of the attendants.

Holmes could hear the conversation, "Boy, I am Mycroft Holmes, I was sent by the Diogenes Club. There were four horses that were supposed to be ready." Mycroft hissed into the young man's ear.

"Yes, yes sir. Just follow me." the man stuttered, shaking from head to toe.

When they reached the stable there were in fact six horses. One heavy set pack horse, four walking horses, and one Welsh pony. Julia immediately ran to the pony, giggling under her breath. She untied the bridle and walked it over to the others. A small smile shown across her face, the first smile from Julia that Watson and Holmes had seen in three years.

"I will ride this one!" she said quietly, her sing song voice back from the grave of her emotions.

"Julia, you do not even know how to ride! We'll just…" Watson was cut off be Julia running to where she noticed earlier the saddles were kept. She grabbed a saddle the proper size, ran back to the pony, and began fastening the straps. In under two minutes, Julia had all of the straps fastened, had mounted the horse, and was waiting for the others to follow her lead.

Watson was standing in the middle of the doorway, dumbstruck; that is until Holmes came up behind him and whispered, "I taught her four years ago, I did not think she would still remember."

"Oh," Watson muttered about five seconds later.

There were laughs galore when Mycroft attempted to attach the saddle to his horse. When ever he tried to put the saddle on, the hose would side step. Holmes had to dismount and do it for his brother, who was muttering excuses even though no one was listening.


	3. Chapter 3

The ride to Llanfoist was very scenic. Lush green deciduous and evergreen trees lined the path, and a river could be heard bubbling somewhere nearby. Julia was in the lead and Mycroft close behind her; he was pointing out little creatures, plants, and birds to an awestruck Julia. This gave Holmes and Watson a chance to talk.

"Holmes, she is smiling, and laughing, and talking!" Watson said utterly amazed at what one day had done to his little Julia.

"Yes, it is amazing. Maybe now I can convince her to return to her studies of analytical tactics with me. No, she probably never will." Holmes sighed, remembering that it was because of him and his analytical mind that her mother was killed.

"She might, Holmes, she just needs the right reason." Watson said, patting his solemn looking friend on the shoulder and speeding up his horse to reunite with Mycroft and Julia.

When they reached the stately inn, Julia saw a girl about her own age wearing a green dress playing in the field in front of the building; she had blonde hair and a pale, almost shimmering complexion.

The girl ducked when she turned to see a Welsh pony coming her way in a full canter. But Julia pulled the horse to the side to slow it down.

"You are good with horses!" the girl said with admiration as she stood up from the ground.

"I guess so." was Julia's response as she dismounted her horse and turned to look at the girl.

"My name is Rowan. My father owns the inn." the girl smiled as she extended her hand to Julia.

"My name is Julia. I am not from around here, I am not even from this country." she laughed as she shook the girl's hand.

At that moment, the others rode up, talking amongst themselves; with Mycroft and Watson hanging back. Holmes noticed Julia shaking hands with Rowan and rode up, "Who is this, Julia. Making friends already." he chuckled, bending down and patting Julia on the back.

She looked up at Holmes, "This is Rowan. Her father owns the inn." She turned to Rowan, "Rowan, this is my godfather, Mr. Holmes."

"Your godfather is Mr. Sherlock Holmes! That must make you; oh, what is his name? You must be Dr. John Watson's daughter! And your mother, she is the one whose treasure was lost, I am sorry to hear about that. I am sure she is doing fine without it, is she?" Rowan said this all in one breathe.

"Rowan, I would rather not talk of my mother." Julia said, partially reverting to her quiet self.

By then, Watson and Mycroft had caught up with the others. Rowan went inside to tell her father of the tenants who had just arrived.

Her father walked out. He was a rather short man, he was bald, and he had a long stride for his height. He greeted then with a gruff tone, and during their conversation, made frequent jokes that no one, except for himself, understood.

They were immediately led up to their room. It was a suite with four bedrooms. Holmes had his, Mycroft his, Watson and Mary were supposed to share one, but due of the circumstances, Watson had it to himself, and Julia had the smaller room; with a bay window that over looked a river. Almost like her room at Baker Street, but there she looks over a river of people; not clear, warm water and polished smooth river stones.


	4. Chapter 4

**4**

The next day they rode into town; not on horse back; but in a carriage with one extra passenger, Rowan. In one day, she and Julia had become the best of friends. When they reached the local post office, Mycroft walked in unaccompanied. Mycroft had explained that he had some business to attend to, and that the others should go on without him.

They had heard from Rowan that there was a museum on the east side of Llanfoist. When they arrived, they found policemen scattered everywhere. Holmes was the first to exit, followed by Watson. Julia eagerly jumped from the carriage, but she not so eagerly followed her father and Holmes in to the building. Julia looked around, seeing as many piles of broken glass as constables. Watson broke off to talk to the police chief, so Julia followed Holmes to what used to be the gems exhibits.

When they approached, Julia stopped in her tracks, "Mr. Holmes, I may be seeing things, but it looks as if there is a set of foot prints going both ways. They are not the shoes a constable would wear, they are riding boots of some sort." she hypothesized, kneeling by the pile of glass.

"You are correct, but that would mean that the glass was broken before he walked to the exhibit. And maybe it was done so by this." Holmes pulled a long, intricate throwing dagger out of the ruby exhibit. "Ah, look what else I have found!" he cried happily as he pulled a piece of burnt and bloodied cloth out of the same exhibit. "Julia, smell this. I have, and thus I fell to a conclusion that I wish you to confirm." Holmes said, passing the scrap of clothing to her.

"It smells of, limestone? But why would burnt cloth smell like limestone?" she asked, handing the cloth back.

"Julia, what is limestone an ingredient in?" Holmes asked, already knowing the answer, but wishing to see if his pupil did.

"Glass, I think. That would also explain why it is scorched." Julia realized while trying to remember the equations to find a person's height and weight from their footprints.

"But it would not account for the blood, in a spattered form, on the cloth." Holmes added.

"I think our culprit is six feet. No, that can't be right! It is to shallow, I think." she pouted as she plopped down onto the ground.

"Julia, you must remember to take into consideration the fact that it is a print in glass." he reminded, becoming a little impatient, "Oh, I see. You are right, they are to shallow to be of a six foot man, but the stride suggests six feet. This means that either he is as wide as a quill, or he has a long stride for his height." Holmes said, reassuring Julia while thoughts traveling on an analytical chain swirled through his mind.


	5. Chapter 5

**5**

As Julia and Holmes continued to search the exhibits, the chief inspector came up behind and them, and grabbed Julia's arm to pull her out of the building. "Children do not belong in crime scenes unless they are the victims!" he shouted while he snatched her away from her work.

"Let me go, I am working with Mr. Sherlock Holmes!" she shouted.

He instantly let her go, rounded the corner of cases and ran face first into Holmes, who was coming to see what was wrong, having heard the exchanged words.

The inspector stood there in silence as Holmes moved him aside, walked over to Julia, and told her to find her father. "Inspector, I presume. Why were harassing that child?" he asked in an un-courteous tone.

"Why did she say she was working with you?" the inspector shot back in the same voice, almost mockingly.

Holmes didn't reply, for he heard Julia's softly padding feet and whimpering tears. "What is wrong, Julia?" he asked; kneeling down and gently clasping her thin and shaking hands.

"I cannot find Papa!" she whispered, shaking like a leaf in autumn.

Holmes attempted to calm and reassure her by telling Julia that he would look for Watson. She remained near the broken cases, as instructed, Holmes strode to the last place he had seen the misplaced father. The inspector picked his interrogations, but a little gentler. "How can a child like you know, much less work with, the consulting detective Sherlock Holmes?" he crossed his arms in front of him.

Julia mirrored the gesture with her thin arms. "I have _known_ Mr. Holmes since I was three years old. He has been _teaching _me since I was four. And my father has known Mr. Holmes for _many_ years." She may have still been shaking, but Holmes had taught her how to be deceptive with her emotions.

"And who would your father be?" he quipped.

Julia was about to answer when someone came up behind her and gently placed their hands on her shoulders and answered for her. "John H. Watson M.D. and retired army surgeon of the second class." Watson answered.

"Oh, I see. My apologies; is there anything I can do to, um, aid in your investigation?" the inspector tried to back pedal as fast as he could, having himself read Watson's narratives about he and Holmes' adventures.

"No." Holmes said as he stepped forward to join the group. "Come, Julia; I need your assistance." He carefully took hold of her left hand and turned her away from the others.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes." She gave a slight smile up at him. "What can I assist you with?"

"These blood drops. I need you to follow them and call out to me how many steps you are taking between them." He pointed out the scarlet drops. Knowing that Julia's strides were exactly fifteen inches, he could determine how fast the source of the blood was moving by how many steps she was taking between them.

So she followed the trail, calling out her stride count. Julia meandered her way through the museum and found herself in the back storage rooms. She suddenly stopped in the door way of an adjoining room. "M… Mr. Holmes!" she faltered.

"What is wrong, little one?" Holmes called from across the room as he walked to stand beside her.

She raised a shaking finger to point into the back corner of the room. Slumped against the wall was the bloodied corpse of one of the museum guards. "That explains the blood on the cloth." She whispered.

Julia's mind was running on one track at that moment: memories of her mother brutally killed before her three years ago.


	6. Chapter 6

"Julia, go to your father; at once." Holmes ordered calmly, seeing the young girl before him begin to shake terribly.

She limply nodded and ran back into the museum as fast as her legs could carry her, which was quite fast. "Papa! Papa!"she cried as she neared him, barely withholding tears. "Papa, there was a body!" She cried into his shoulder when Watson picked her up and cradled her to him.

"Dear God." He mumbled to himself. "You should not have had to see that Julia." He soothed before turning to the direction his daughter had sprinted from. "Holmes!" he called before he got anywhere near the recently arrived swarm of officers, knowing that that was where the body Julia had spoken of was.

Holmes slid through the gaps in the throng and came to his friend and goddaughter's side. "I'm very sorry about that, Julia." He apologized earnestly. He truly did care for the girl in front of him. As far as children were concerned, she was quite content with silence, very intelligent, and was rather self-enclosed. "Watson, I had no idea that there would be a body. I thought there would simply be a murder weapon, not the murder victim."

"I assumed that much. I am going to take Julia and Rowan back to the inn. I don't think I could be of much help, what with all these officers running around." Watson explained, knowing how Holmes felt about the terrified girl with her head tucked into his good shoulder.

"Nonsense, Watson! You are always of use. Especially when I have no clue which of thirty-eight sharp force traumas caused the actual end of the poor fellow back there." Homes jokingly threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the room.

Julia relaxed slightly when she realized that the man she had seen did not die how her mother did. "Alright." Watson sighed. "I will send the girls back on their own. But we will leave here at three to go back to them: done or not."

Holmes nodded, so Watson set off for the front of the museum where the carriage should still be parked with Rowan still inside. It was indeed. Watson set Julia on her feet and told her to take care and to behave back at the inn. He gave his instructions to the driver to be back at the museum at three that afternoon. He stood on the curb as the carriage pulled away before returning inside to help Holmes solve this unexpected case.

The girls arrived back at the inn quickly, and ran inside immediately to get something for lunch. When they arrived, Mycroft was nowhere to be found. Which was odd considering Julia and the carriage driver, named David, both agreed that he would most likely be there.

After the quick meal, Rowan dragged Julia out into the garden to show her some of her favorite plants and to ask about what it was like to live in London. Mycroft had apparently left a gift for Julia on a garden bench. Julia tediously untied the string that encircled the gift, for it was made of a very interesting wash of leather. After unwrapping it, she saw a very odd bow and arrow set. Except the only thing odd about it was the fact that instead of sharp tips, the arrows' ends were miniature plungers. Julia immediately formed a hilarious plan. After conversing with Rowan, it was set.

Two hours later, Holmes and Watson pulled up in a cab. They saw only Rowan playing in the garden. "Where is Julia?" Watson asked.

Before she could answer, a soft twang was heard from above. Then a plunger tipped arrow came whizzing into view. Holmes didn't have time to react; the projectile hit him squarely in the backside. The sight was followed by stifled laughs from all, even Holmes.

After Holmes succeeded in prying the plunger off, he turned to Watson and said one word, "Julia." Immediately following the accusation, the suspect tumbled out of a nearby tree in a fit of laughter. "What was the incentive behind your first, but certainly not last, attack?" Holmes asked with quizzical smile; he was still holding the arrow in his left hand.

"Opportunity." that was her giggled response.

"Show us your weapon of choice." Watson accused jokingly.

So Julia climbed the tree again; except this time, she came down holding the bow and the remaining four arrows. "Apparently Mr. Mycroft left it for me."

"Speaking of my confounded brother, where is he? Hiding in another tree with another toy arrow?" Holmes said, his usually expressionless face showing as much annoyance as his vocabulary.

"Actually, he has not yet returned." Rowan had finally gathered up the courage to chime in on the conversation.

"I am sure he will return for dinner." Holmes said as he started up the walk to the door of the inn.

While walking to the inn, Julia began to question Rowan to try and tie up all the loose ends in the current case. She learned that the local glass maker and blacksmith was Rowan's father. And that his metallic specialties are medieval type weaponry, especially throwing daggers.

However, when dinner came around, Mycroft was still nowhere to be found. The same thing was to be said by breakfast. By now, all were worried.

They decided to retrace Mycroft's steps, to try and find where he had gone.

They went to the post office and "interrogated" the clerk; a jittery middle aged man who could not stop fiddling with the letters and packages in his hands.

"The, the man you described, he came in yesterday and retrieved letters for a, a Mr. Allen Vanderhoff." the man said, his eyes darting between the two men He had not yet noticed the small form leaning over different mailboxes. That is until it cried out in delight.

"I found it! I know where Mr. Mycroft is! See, here is a letter; well it's made up of numbers. But we should be able to decipher it. Should we?"

_451__9 1__85__936__3__2,_

_9__ 1__55__ 2__81__2 763 __81__4__5__6__635__4__ 4__5__ 4__9__11__9__5__7__. __4__6 562 __6__9__5__2, 7__5__2. __1__-4- __9__1 6321__945__. __69__5__4__ 47 153__66__, __1__5__4__ 763 4__933__69__5__4__ 4__5__._

_4-__3__-__8_

Holmes snatched the letter out of Julia's hands. "It's rooting, he has written in rooting! This first part, it means 'Dear Sherlock'. We used rooting when we were children. '4-3-8,' that is his signature.

Watson interrupted Holmes' jovial deciphering. "Well, let us get this back to the inn so you can translate it, and then we can go get your brother out of whatever mess he is in."

All nodded and they quickly left the post office; leaving a very confused clerk in their wake.

**To all the fans of this series out there; I'm very sorry this took so long, but school got in my way. And my editor/sometimes co-author had me working on other stuff.**

**If any of you have any ideas as to who the murderer is, send it in a review and I will tell you if you're right or wrong. **

**As with any story: reviews are cherished and always reviewed.**

**Sincerely,**

**C M (the mysterious half of idkaname)**


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